


Ganymede and Jupiter

by MissTantabis



Category: Will (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood Kink, Cum Play, Knife Play, M/M, NSFW, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: There are many ways to be inspired. Some more extreme then others...





	Ganymede and Jupiter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meridian_rose (meridianrose)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/gifts).



> This story was originally posted on Tumblr.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Marlowe could feel Will’s look on his hand. The soft, woollen bandage hid a long, thin cut. It had been seeping with blood the last half an hour, and Kit had used the kick of adrenalin to write. As he always did. Next to him on the table laid a pack of papers, revealing his productivity. Kit had not written plays this evening but instead indulged himself in poems. As a present for Thomas Wallsingham. His lover and patron did finance him after all, so Marlowe should give something back in some way.

“Trust me, Will, it always works for me.” His grey eyes rested upon the younger poet as Marlowe spun the knife between his fingers with practised security. The blade was cleaned and shone like rays of moonlight in the orange glow of his fireplace.

“But isn’t it a bit extreme?” Will rubbed his neck with a hand.

Marlowe slammed the knife into an edge of the table. Sauntering around it towards him, the older poet replied: “All ways to unleash creativity can be a bit extreme. Some people do drugs. Others drink. Some observe everything they see. Others cut themselves. It does not matter how you are getting your mind flowing. The question is what it makes you feel.”

Kit had placed his uninjured hand onto his chest. Through thin layers of clothing, Marlowe could feel the warmth of Will’s body. He smelled of fresh grass, old parchment, smoke, ink and wood. It was an interesting combination. Kit drank him up with his eyes as he had often done before. William Shakespeare was an interesting man. His rustic manners stood in such conflict to the brilliance of his mind and skill. It fascinated Christopher.

“I don’t know, Kit...”, he murmured.

“Dost thou trust me?”, he asked, “I promise, no harm’ll come to thee. And if thou changest thy mind, I shall stop immediately.”

Will looked at him again. “I trust you, Kit”, he murmured, “It’s just… I’ve never done this before. Moreover isn’t it a…?” His sentence run empty across the room. Kit thought he saw his crucifix dangling from his wrist.

“So what if it is? To hell with the demands of the church!” Marlowe snatched the cross from Will’s hand and dropped it upon the table. “Everybody knows Jesus got intimate with the Apostles!” Will stared at him as if he had just declared hell was where heaven resided.

Kit sighed. “Look” – his hand found its way up his cheek and he cupped it – “just pretend that God shuts both eyes for this. I promise I won’t do it again if it makes you this comfortable.”

Will swallowed and bit his lips. “Thanks, Kit.”

Kit smiled and took his hands again. Spinning around, he lead him away from the table. Stopping in a half-turn, one of Marlowe’s hands rested upon his back, the other one held his hand. Kit gazed down at Will and into his eyes. William Shakespeare had one of the most interesting pair of eyes, he had seen in a long time. Unnaturally large and of such a clear crystal blue, it was as if the sky reflected in the waves of the sea.

“You have beautiful eyes”, Marlowe whispered.

“Kit…” Will rose one of his hands and with trembling fingers touched Marlowe’s lips. He gave him no time to answer. Leaning down, Kit placed his mouth on his lips and kissed him deeply. He fell silent, and for a short moment Marlowe expected him to back down, before this even had begun. But then to his surprise and joy, Will clawed his fingers into my collar and kissed him back!

That man was a kisser like you wouldn’t believe! Kit still remembered the first time he had kissed him almost two months ago. The lips were soft and plumb like fresh fruits. Will moaned against his lips and kissed him back. Marlowe could feel a slight tremor running through him, unsure of the situation. Was it right? Wrong? Sin? All Kit thought was, it was intoxicating.

Fingers wandered over his shoulders and up his face, hesitant and slow. Marlowe waited patiently. He knew Will was new to all this, and Kit could not expect him to be all up on him like the boys were. After all when Marlowe had kissed him for the first time, he had positively jumped back as if a bee had stung him.

Finally after a few precious minutes of silence, these long and rough fingers took a hold of his silky hair. They ran through strands and gently pushed and pulled at them, feeling their way through everything. Kit chuckled against Will’s lips. “Are you done with pretending as if I am some strange species you have never seen?”, he teased him.

“Whatever do you mean?” Will kept his hands on his shoulders.

“Please, William Shakespeare, a blind man can see thou art holding back”, Kit challenged him, “Just let go. Thou’ll see wonders.” His eyes sparkled and his lips pulled upwards into a smirk. For a short moment a brief flicker of new hesitation came across that rural face. Then suddenly blue eyes darkened with lust. Christopher had won.

Will’s kiss was rougher and more forceful now. His body crashed against Marlowe’s and hands took a hold of his collar. He would have loved to laugh if he had the air left to breath. Bodies tumbling down onto the ground, Kit landed before his stove. The light of the flames licked across Will’s face, painting the flesh in the most beautiful shades of orange.

His gaze drew hungrily over that half opened, green cloak. “Come on”, Marlowe growled impatiently, “Get that clothing off.” Leaning upwards, he took a hold of the edge of his collar. It took Kit some effort to pull the cloak off. Each new revealed centimetre of skin was greeted by my lips and tongue as he took my time to explore neck, collarbone and shoulder.

Will shuddered under his administrations and moaned low. His eyes shut and he whispered: “K-kit...” There was a tremble in his voice. Marlowe finally managed to strip off the entire jacket. It landed on the floor in a heap. Next was the shirt. Brown and simply. Kit claimed another kiss for himself and pulled the shirt off in one move.

Breaking the kiss, he grabbed Will by his shoulders. With a bit effort, Marlowe turned them around, straddling him comfortably. He made a sound that could have been akin to protest, had it not sounded so needy. Was he blushing? Marlowe laughed quietly. “Easy there, Will.” He laid his finger on his lips. “I hardly started.”

Marlowe tilted his head aside, deciding to test his luck. Would he be willing to do this? “Dost thou want to lick my finger?”, Kit asked, his voice a raspy whisper, which brushed over skin like wind through leaves. Will shuddered and his face gained the red tan of a ripe strawberry. He did not have to say a word.

Kit murmured: “Wait.” Carefully removing the golden, complex embroidered ring he was wearing, Marlowe offered him my index finger again. Will cautiously opened his mouth, curiosity shining in his eyes. Kit dove into the depths. It was warm and wet. Will’s lips had closed around his finger, and he could feel his tongue twitch and turn as it explored the foreign object.

The move caused Kit to sigh quietly, and he closed my eyes for a couple of seconds, just focussing on the sensation. A grin came across his lips, and Marlowe took the knife from the table. Pulling his finger out of Will’s mouth (he whined), Kit presented him with the weapon. “Ready?”, he asked.

His voice was hoarse: “I think so...”

“Remember if thou feelst uncomfortable in any way, I’ll stop.” KIt then leaned closer and placed the knife against his cheek. Will tensed in anticipation. The blade cut and a tinkle of blood ran down the skin. He could see the younger poet flinch. Cautiously leaning forwards, Marlowe planted a kiss on the wound. The blood tasted bitter. Muscles twitched underneath his tongue.

Kit retreated and Will moaned. He seemed to ponder for a bit. “Okay”, responded the poet, “Do that again.” Marlowe smiled and softly drew another cut. This time on the second cheek. Now he licked his way across the entire wound. Will moaned and arched his back.

Kit chuckled. “Lookest how greedy thou art”, he mused, “Like a dog, trying to please thy master’s command. I have hardly started.” It was true. Will had seen nothing yet. Twirling his pen knife between his fingers, Marlowe pondered what to do next. He wanted to sketch on a bigger area. Will gasped and shuddered. His chest heaved before Kit, a sea of pale flesh, and his knife was the ship, navigating through its waves.

Will flushed, awfully aware of his predicament. He looked adoringly sweet with the heat in his cheeks. “Thou art beautiful, my Ganymede”, Kit whispered and leaned forwards. Tongue tracing his neck, he took one of his nipples between his teeth and began to pinch and bite it.

Will let out a quiet series of “Ahs” and “Ohs”, interrupted by more pants and more colour in the face. “If...I am...Ganymede, then what art thou?”, he asked Marlowe, “Jupiter?”

The older poet released his hard and reddish nipple from his teeth. Smiling, Kit crooned: “If thou wantest me to, I can be thy shining God Jupiter.” Will bit his lips, pondering. He then nodded. There was a new courage in his face. It seemed he had left the God of Abraham far behind.

“Conquer me, my God”, he whispered, and a knot formed in Marlowe’s throat, “Make me your sacrifice.”

Now it was Kit’s turn to blush. This man knew how to talk if you let him. Marlowe’s tongue flicked over his lips. Who would have thought rural Will could produce such lusty thoughts, sounds and words? It was exciting and enticing. There was a certain satisfaction in _knowing_ Kit was the first one to accomplish this.

Taking the pen knife again, Marlowe began to sketch anew upon his chest. Making little cuts here and there. Even carved my initials into his ribcage. Everybody should see that William Shakespeare, the famed poet of the Globe Theatre, of Burbage’s Theatre was his! He had made Marlowe his God and thus all should know that he was taken.

A lusty, playful growl escaped Kit. “Come here, Ganymede.” Eyes flaring, he grabbed Will at his throat and as he pressed down, blocking his airway, Kit claimed him in another kiss. For a short moment, the body seemed to flail. Then however William pushed through his own dizziness and kissed me back.

Lips interlocked with one another, Kit kissed him as roughly as he could. Breath chased after breath. His lung threatened to explode, and when Kit parted, he noticed a hue of blue on Will’s lips. He was panting and so was Marlowe. Still, he looked perfectly alright.

With a grin, the older poet took the knife and now sliced open a part of his thighs. Gasping, the rural poet stared at Kit. They stared at his clear erection. He was horny. That young man was horny for Marlowe. Such vicious delight. Kit placed the knife away. He had drawn enough. Now it was time to reward my little Ganymede.

“Inspired yet?”, he inquired, remembering why they were doing this.

Will mumbled, eyes glassy with lust: “Somehow…”

“Good. I’ll read thy next play myself, so thou better do a good job, Monsieur Shakeshaft.”

“Hey…!”

Any further protest Will might have, died as  Kit wrapped  his fingers around his cock.  He gave one quick twist of the wrist, and the poet moaned so loudly, he felt the need to muffle the sound into his fist.  Kit’s lips twitched into a winning smile.  _Good, very good. Sing for me, Will. Make more of those lovely sounds._

He twisted his wrist again. Fingers massaged a hard, yet velvety skin. They wandered up along the shaft in slow, circular movements. Each touch, each twist and turn seemed to make Will melt. He had tilted his head backwards and simply closed his eyes. On occasions, another one of those adorable noises of love escaped his lips.

Kit finally reached the tip of his cock. Finger brushing against the glans, he felt Will’s entire body shiver and he made a hoarse screaming sound. So much pent up energy in one body. Really, the playwright should sleep with other men more often. Kit would not mind helping in the occasion.

Something clear and wet was leaking out of the slit. Pre-cum. Kit leaned forwards and dragged his tongue across it, feeling the poet shudder under the move. “K-kit...” His blue eyes locked with mine. Marlowe rose a brow, lips smeared. They both knew where this would end. One final twist and…

Will came! His seed shot out of his dick like water from a hose. A high, white fountain in mid-air. Kit grabbed his shaft and turned it just in time to make the earliest drops, thick and heavy land on his tongue. Swallowing, Marlowe let out a satisfied moan.

William’s cum smeared across his legs and parts of his stomach. He shuddered and looked up at Kit. The blue eyes now no longer seemed that innocent before the God of Abraham. Will’s lips were parted. Marlowe took the words from him, before he could say them: “You know, Master Shakespeare, if you are ever overcome with the need to sin and indulge in it, there will be at least one very willing partner.”


End file.
